


Spiced Cocoa

by Mozzarella



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort Food, Curry, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Demands of the Qun, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Qunari, Qunari Culture and Customs, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29913582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: Dorian perked up when the scent of warm cocoa hit his nostrils, and something familiar yet out of place. He stared down at the cup and saw the lightest sprinkling of red on the surface, which another careful sniff revealed to Dorian a hint of the hotter, red spice of chili powder.“You’re mad,” Dorian said, though he couldn’t deny he was intrigued.(In which Dorian and Bull share Krem's special curry, spicy hot cocoa, and feelings)
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Spiced Cocoa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArtfulKindofOrder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtfulKindofOrder/gifts).



> Written for ArtfulKindofOrder, in the 3k+ word tier! You can get your own fic written especially for you as well.
> 
> Check out the pinned tweet @mothermuchy on Twitter for more info!

1

Being a dwarf didn’t seem to deter Varric from acts of great magic, such as the ability to pay someone enough money to justify bringing exotic Northern goods to a remote mountain fort, whose roads were so untravelled that they literally had to be hewn from the stone to be serviceable. 

In all fairness to Varric, however, the apparent monetary gain from the Inquisition’s new status as a political superpower seemed so appealing to the merchant guilds across Thedas, that it spurred much construction around easier travel up and down the frozen mountain.

Which was to say - despite being so far South Dorian could feel the tears freeze along his eyelids on his travels, Varric was still able to procure delicacies in exchange for money or favours. And between Dorian, The Iron Bull, Josephine, and other hapless Northerners relegated to the service of Southern holy armies, Varric had a  _ lot  _ of money, and even more favours than he might know what to do with (if he wasn’t Varric, who  _ always  _ knew how to handle money and favours). 

Dorian was lucky Varric liked him enough for a few of those favours to simply be juicy gossip for his new book, because he would have happily given up appendages for the well-packaged spices he could smell among this week’s shipments, even before they had been unloaded from the wagons. 

“Fuck, is that curry powder I smell? Shit I shoulda paid out of pocket for that if I knew we’d be getting a shipment in,” Dorian heard from behind him, and he raised an eyebrow as The Iron Bull strode forward, flanked by his skeptical-looking Tevinter lieutenant. 

They’d been much too far for a normal human to get a whiff, but then Bull had a great sense of smell (though whether that was from being a Qunari, or just something unique to the Bull himself, was a mystery). When Krem got close enough to get a good sniff, his usually hardened warrior’s face softened a touch with wistfulness. 

“You’re welcome to share a few pinches in exchange for some recipes,” Dorian said graciously. “I was going to experiment, but with how difficult it was to get any of these up here in the first place, I don’t imagine wasting any of this precious dust with my culinary failures will make anyone happy.” 

Krem snorted, muttered something in common Tevene about useless Magisters, but sounded surprisingly jovial when he responded with “If you let us at your stock, Altus, I could stew up a proper pot of curry with the rice Chief ordered from the merchants.” 

“I am at your service then, countryman,” Dorian said with a flourish and a bow. 

“Who knew all you had to do to get an Altus to bow to a Soporati was the promise of good Vint food?” Bull remarked as he grabbed one of the biggest and heaviest boxes from the off-loading cart and hoisted it with apparent ease, settling it in front of both ‘Vints with a grin. 

“I’d do much more than kneel for decent Northern food, I must tell you plain,” Dorian said dramatically, waving his finger once and prying the box open with a strategic bit of force magic, causing the nearby workers to glare in his direction. 

“Hear that Krem? Make a decent curry and Dorian’s down to suck your cock in gratitude,” Bull said, and Dorian sighed loudly, surprised when Krem elbowed his own leader in the ribs hard enough to make him huff. 

“Fuck off, Chief,” Krem said shaking his head. Bull held a hand to his heart in mock offense. 

“Damn, should’ve known the Vints would side against me. Where’d all that loyalty go?” 

“Sorry, Chief. We haven’t stopped anywhere long enough for me to get a decent amount of curry, and if I have to side with an Altus to make this happen, well. Sacrifices,” Krem said, and held out an absent hand for Dorian to shake as though in covenant. 

Dorian shook it once with a nod, not letting the wonder on his face show with what was the first time he and Krem had gotten through a cordial, even friendly, conversation.

“I guess I gotta get the big guns out,” Bull said thoughtfully as he reached into the box, giving a small “aha!” as he found what he was looking for. “Now you’re  _ both  _ gonna have to take my side.” 

“You certainly sound sure of yourself,” said Dorian, raising a questioning eyebrow as the Bull held a sealed can out for him to sniff. Warily, Dorian did, and sighed, embarrassingly breathless, when he realised exactly what Bull had brought out. 

“Is that cocoa? It was hard enough to get in Tevinter, I cannot begin to imagine what power Varric has to get it all the way to the South,” Dorian said, voice a bit choked up with emotion at the rare delicacy. 

“I’ll mix you a cup with druffalo milk if you let me back on your good side,” said Bull, giving him a sort of tilted nod that Dorian knew meant he was “winking” with his missing eye. 

“Implying you were ever on my good side,” Dorian said, though his words belied the warm look of indulgent amusement on his face. 

  
  


* * *

2 

Krem was true to his word, and it wasn’t long before Dorian was settling in on a particularly cold night, enjoying a warm bowl of curried nug with the soft, delicious rice that Bull had cooked up. He might have cried from joy at the delicacy, and he didn’t even complain when Krem began distributing bowls to the many inhabitants of Skyhold who were lured in by the intriguing scents. 

He was roused from the sleepy, comfortable mood of the quiet Rest when Bull took the seat across from him, two steaming clay cups in hand. He nudged one into Dorian’s space with a broad grin and Dorian perked up when the scent of warm cocoa hit his nostrils, and something familiar yet out of place. 

He stared down at the cup and saw the lightest sprinkling of red on the surface, which another careful sniff revealed to Dorian a hint of the hotter, red spice of chili powder. 

“You’re mad,” Dorian said, though he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. 

“Ready to have your mind blown like a Kirkwall Chantry, Vint?” Bull challenged, and Dorian, caught off-guard by the comment, laughed merrily. It was a miracle it didn’t even net him the usual distrusting stares from other patrons, but it seemed word had spread who had paid out of pocket for their delicious,  _ exotic  _ feast. 

It was, to Dorian’s surprise, even better than he anticipated - and though he would not admit it, he already expected it to be good. The Iron Bull, after all, had impeccable taste when it came right down to it (at least, outside of his obsession with the gaudiest colours of pink, and the offensive pattern of his trousers). 

“Oh,” Dorian shuddered, “I suppose it’s a blessing we don’t have this in regular supply. Otherwise I’d be paunchy as an Orlesian nobleman at this rate.” 

“And you’d still find a way to make it look good,” Bull said, giving him another objectively awful (yet secretly thrilling) one-eyed wink. 

Between the filling meal and the warm sweetness of Bull’s special cocoa brew - spiked with much less alcohol than Dorian was used to needing to get even a lick of sleep - Dorian felt himself drowse, head drooping one too many times for him to keep up. 

“Come on, big guy,” he heard Bull rumble as he helped him get to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed, huh?” 

It didn’t seem to matter that his own bed was right above them and there was no reason for Bull to bring him to his own room above the gardens. Dorian leaned his head against Bull’s warm bicep as they walked arm in arm across the chilly courtyard. The brisk air roused him just enough to appreciate how the entire core of him felt warm from the night’s feast, and his hands and face - so prone to the quick chills of Skyhold winter - were tucked into the heat emanating from his Qunari companion. 

When they finally arrived at Dorian’s, Bull stayed to help him out of his outer coat, and knelt to help him slip his boots off, which Dorian protested loudly. 

“Your knee, man!” Dorian huffed, and Bull chuckled halfway to standing at Dorian’s insistence. Still, he bent over to help tug Dorian’s boots off and line them with military precision by his writing table. 

Dorian lay back, luxuriating in his bed despite the humble quality of his sheets. He might as well have been sleeping in clouds, or the downy hairs along the Maker’s bosom, with how comfortable he felt. 

Before Bull left, taking the time to stoke the fire to keep the room warm while Dorian lit up the heating rune by his bed with magic, Dorian gestured for him to come over with outstretched arms. 

Curiously, Bull walked over, and Dorian reached out and pulled him down into a deep yet soft kiss, sinking into the sensation of comfort and warmth he wasn’t wholly familiar with, but nonetheless welcomed. 

“Stay?” Dorian whined as Bull pulled away. The other man chuckled, grazing Dorian’s cheek with the hand missing fingers, puckered skin at the joints gentle against his skin. 

“Not tonight, Vint.” 

Dorian huffed, indignantly lifting himself onto his elbows. 

“And why not? It’s not like you haven’t thought about it, and I’ve never been so sober before bed at such an early hour.” 

“Well for one thing, you’re about to pass out anyway,” Bull said, poking Dorian in the centre of his chest with one finger, enough to push him back down against the pillows. “And for another, not like your bed could handle one Qunari, let alone his prissy Vint.” 

Dorian conceded the point, but got a hold of Bull’s hand before he was able to pull back. It wasn’t a particularly firm grip, but it seemed to stop the Qunari warrior in his tracks regardless. 

Dorian pulled the calloused hand to his mouth and kissed each finger. Bull had mastered keeping his expression unreadable - he was, after all, Ben-Hassrath, so skilled in his trade he was able to convince the Inquisition to take him on even after admitting to his role sending intelligence back to a semi-hostile nation. 

And yet… Dorian was himself an Altus of Tevinter, adept at reading people to avoid a social faux pas or premature death by assassination. And he knew he didn’t imagine the soft, vulnerable look behind Bull’s passive, easygoing expression. 

When Bull finally pulled his hand away, careful and undeniably reluctant, Dorian gave him a crooked grin, though sleep was about ready to overtake him. 

“I’ll seduce you yet, Serah, when I’m not so cocoa-drunk,” he said, the last of his words delayed through a yawn. 

“Don’t worry, Vint,” Bull said, too gentle. “You don’t have to try that hard.” 

Dorian closed his eyes with a self-satisfied smile. “Goodnight, Bull.” 

“Goodnight, Dorian.” 

* * *

3

The way things progressed from that night would strike Dorian, much later, when he had enough time to think on it, as odd. 

He was a bit embarrassed by how much he resembled a needy cat, nuzzling for attention, but Bull did nothing to imply he was put off. When they were both assigned to a mission in the Emprise, they shared a tent, and on the first night, Bull offered to get him off, which Dorian happily agreed to. 

He wouldn’t admit it, but it wasn’t Bull’s masterful hand that reached around Dorian’s waist and dwarfed his manhood that Dorian thought back to in subsequent nights. It was the way Bull wrapped around him afterward, the best protection he could have asked for against the elements. Their companionship was always buzzing with sexual energy in the moments they found time to be alone, something of a honeymoon phase after Dorian made the first move the night of their shared Tevinter meal. 

Dorian noticed even then how Bull seemed… uncertain, in a way. He was fully confident when they serviced each other in mutual enjoyment, but there was the slightest of tension in him that Dorian noticed most when he would reach up and give him a soft, grateful peck on the lips for a fantastic orgasm, or reached for his hand to hold when they curled up together to sleep. 

It was something he knew he would have to bring up at some point, but he didn’t know exactly how. For all his knowledge of the Qun in comparison to his more ignorant Southern fellows, he had no frame of reference to broach the topic of… affection. 

No. That wasn’t right. Bull was always affectionate, open with his affection. His was the affection that shared cocoa and walked Dorian back to his room, kept him warm in the South’s coldest climes. 

Romance, then. Love. Dorian could admit, if only to himself, that it was something he hoped to grow into, with Bull. 

More than the excellent sex and the warmth of his presence in bed, Bull was someone Dorian could speak to endlessly on whatever caught his fancy. Some days, when Bull found his way to the library, Dorian would ask him of his thoughts on academic concepts he often only spoke of to Solas or Helisma - the former an excellent verbal sparring partner, but rarely eager to speak to Dorian at length of things other than magical theory, and the latter too literal to speak to beyond discussing concrete information. 

Bull didn’t have the extensive academic background, but when concepts were broken down to their bare essentials, he was able to provide viewpoints Dorian had never considered. He was whip-smart, analytical, and a problem-solver in the most pragmatic way, able to simplify complex concepts in ways most of the Alti Dorian went to school would often fail to do. 

“My Tama was a scholar. She loved old ruins and shit, always made sure we remembered our history,” Bull explained once, when he told Dorian about the ancient structures they’d been digging up around Qunandar, one eye lighting up in excitement. “And she could be a monster when it came to preserving new dig sites. Went over everything with a fine tooth comb. She asked me once if I wanted to be a Tamassran, but I was kind of huge even then, and I liked hitting things. I was too young to prefer books to combat training, so I got Antaam training, but got routed into the Ben-Hassrath since I was a bit too much of a smartass.”

“Didn’t you say only women could be Tamassrans?” Dorian asked, surprised. 

“Well, yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I like being a man, but if it’d worked better, well. My Tama was smart. And Krem always says I got the tits for it,” Bull said, and Dorian almost blew tea out of his nose then, making the mistake of taking a hearty sip as Bull made a gesture under his ample pecs. 

The afternoon then was spent with Bull explaining what he knew of Qunari gender and role assignment, Aqun-Athlok he’d known that gave him context for Krem’s situation when they first met, and Dorian pressed him for whatever he knew of Qunari Academic work among the Tamassrans. 

They spent many days like this, enough that Dorian would have a solid, wide chair for Bull to rest at when he came around. Sometimes, Dorian would come down to the training grounds with a book in hand and watch Bull train and spar with his Chargers, sometimes catching him on his own and volleying questions Bull answered with sharp, thoughtful insight. 

Other times, Bull would come to the library for Inquisition errands he’d volunteered for, sending ravens out to his contacts under Leliana’s strict oversight, or for his regular visits with Vivienne, who’d taken a liking to him and his impeccable manners. 

Apparently, Vivienne reminded Bull of Tamassrans he’d known, though of his own Tama, he said on one of their days spent together, “You remind me a little of her.”

“Excuse me?” Dorian said, blinking in question. 

“My Tama,” Bull explained, smiling warmly at the memory. “She got pretty into the stuff she studied, and you kinda get this same look when people don’t treat the material with respect. All huffy. Arms crossed, back straight to make people feel bad for disappointing her.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes, though it was all good-natured and comfortable. 

“Do you miss her?” he asked tentatively as Bull leafed through one of the books Dorian had been poring over for information on Old Tevinter, one eye flying over the page of Tevene historical material. 

“Dunno,” Bull grunted. “Haven’t seen her since I got deployed. Shit, I’ve gone without her for longer than I was with her. But she was something. Sent me letters early into my Seheron deployment before things got too fucked up to get any non-essential communication. Last I heard, she had a cushy position in the Qunandar central libraries, but she was getting deployments to the ruins she loved so much.” 

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” Dorian said quietly. “And I’m sure she’d be proud you never lost your sharp wit,” he added, giving Bull a playful nudge. 

Bull seemed lost in thought, then. Like he doubted Dorian’s assessment, doubted her pride. 

It was uncertainty Bull never showed in other areas of his life. The thoughtful scrunch of his brow when Dorian spoke of an aspect of the Qun he disagreed with, and Bull didn’t argue with him from a unique and informed viewpoint. Bull could so often defend his homeland and how it “worked” for people, something Dorian found himself humbled to learn the more they spoke. 

But there were moments Bull seemed on the verge of agreeing with Dorian, but said nothing. As though even speaking his doubts was blasphemy of the highest order. 

Of the Qun, and love, Dorian could hardly bring up how he was beginning to feel around the Bull, but Bull wasn’t an idiot. He likely knew already… but he was still of the Qun, and that hung over his head like an executioner’s blade every time he corresponded with them. 

Each time Dorian put a hand on Bull’s when they sat close together, each time they fucked and Dorian, in his mind, thought of it as lovemaking, each time they kissed and Bull softened into it like it was all new to him despite his extensive sexual experience… Dorian could feel the weight of the Qun and their expectations weighing down his strong shoulders. 

And he had no room to talk. He carried his own weight of expectation, as a mage in the South, as a Vint, as an Altus, as one who could make real change in the country he loved so much. 

He adored the comfort Bull provided him - that he hoped he provided to Bull in turn - in their time in the South, but what would happen after all was said and done was something neither of them could possibly speak to until they crossed that bridge. 

At least, until Dorian found out about the Alliance. 

* * *

4

There was, perhaps, a moment Dorian feared Bull wouldn’t blow the horn. 

Like waiting for the executioner’s blade to finally sever what made The Iron Bull himself, and not simply the facade of one Ben Hassrath, one Qunari, among a sea of many. A weapon of the Qun who did not doubt. Who did not love. 

When he did, it was like a breath loosed, a weight dropped. And yet, at the same time, it was a line cut, a tether keeping Bull from drifting away. 

So Dorian stood by him, a single point of contact as Bull’s world crumbled around him, as they both watched The Chargers limp away from what would surely have been their deaths. 

After all was said and done, and they’d eventually arrived back at Skyhold (back home?),The Chargers had a small feast in the tavern, Krem preparing a pot of curry from the store Dorian saved for a special occasion that he’d told Krem to have at, when asked. 

Bull laughed, drank, and allowed himself to bask in the rowdy energy of his Boys, but Dorian could see by the time things were winding down that he was hardly drunk, quiet and pensive as his one eye looked down at his drink without truly seeing it. 

He looked up when Dorian approached with two ceramic cups, asking Krem if he could steal their fearless leader for a moment. 

They stood outside and sipped at the cocoa in druffalo milk Dorian had prepared. 

“It won’t be nearly as good as yours, but I think I did an alright enough job,” Dorian explained as Bull sipped. 

“Cinnamon, nutmeg, red chili,” Bull observed without inflection. “I guess I’m pretty bad at my job if I’m accepting drinks from a Tevinter Altus without checking for poison.” 

“I would hardly waste your precious cocoa supply,” Dorian said in jest, though his tone remained careful and quiet. 

“Guess I’m just expecting it now,” said Bull. “They’ll be sending assassins soon.” 

“Hm. Did you bring this up with the Inquisitor?” 

“She’ll be asleep by now. Tomorrow,” Bull said, and Dorian shook his head, exasperated. 

“Well, alright. But we’re spending the night in my room. I have a fair enough number of protection wards I can set up,” he said pragmatically. 

“Dorian,” Bull began, sighing. 

“Hm?” 

“You don’t have to,” said Bull. 

“Oh, I know. But it’s rather cold tonight, and I’d rather spend it in my room than in the one that has a hole in the ceiling,” said Dorian airily. 

“You know I got that patched a month ago.” 

“Bull,” said Dorian, his tone changing drastically to something much too… honest. “Stay with me, tonight.” 

He meant, of course, in his room, but more than that, he could see the way Bull was fragmenting right before his very eyes. The doubt he hid so well before now changed the way he stood, curling around the tiny cup of creature comfort he had. 

It hurt Dorian to see the man he loved so fearful, and hoped, at least tonight, he could ease that fear. 

They finished their cocoa together in Dorian’s room, stripped down to nothing but warmed by the fireplace and Dorian’s runes. It took some doing, but Bull was able to stretch himself over Dorian’s bed and Dorian was able to rest on his chest like a weighted blanket. 

“I love you,” Dorian murmured as they drifted off in warm, sleepy comfort, and for Bull’s sake, Dorian pretended not to feel the tears dripping into his hair, or how he squeezed Dorian tighter to his chest at the words. 

* * *

5

That day had been a tiring one, with the more infuriating elements of the Magisterium keeping a deadlock going for much too long, until one of the more onerous Magisters was called away on a “family emergency”. Whatever had truly happened to call Vixas away from the session likely had nothing to do with family beyond what could cause them scandal, but it helped them move forward regardless - a better outcome than Mae had predicted when the day began, if not an ideal one. 

Dorian returned to his quarters and found a delivery waiting for him, finely wrapped and bearing the familiar seal of a fairly well-known professional mercenary company. 

It had likely been tested for poison and neutralised by magical cleanses long before it ever reached Dorian’s quarters, but he examined it with his magic out of habit nonetheless. It was safe, of course, but it was a precaution Dorian knew his Amatus would not judge him for. 

What he found made him smile warmly - a box of authentic Par Vollen cocoa, a short note from Varric saying he was counting his favours, and a coded letter from Bull, signed “Your Amatus” with a crude little drawing of horns on either side. 

It was just the treat Dorian needed, and he almost missed the tiny, wrapped item in amongst the packaging. It looked much humbler than the rest, with the cloth tied around a small, intricately carved stone bearing the message that came with it. 

It was written in Qunlat, but translated with a note attached in Bull’s own hand. 

“A piece of our history for the wise Ashkaari, always my Imekari, without doubt and with love.” 

Though he missed the nights they spent curled up in each other, in the warm corners they’d made and shared in a now-empty Skyhold, Dorian still felt the comfort and peace of that time now. 

Sipping spiced cocoa just the way Bull had made it, Dorian smiled as he heard Bull’s “Kadan!” over the sending crystal, brimming with warmth and excitement as he asked if Dorian received his gift. 

And with Krem butting in, asking Dorian to send them a batch of authentic Tevinter curry powder at their next rest stop, it felt like he was home again. 

  
  
  
  
  


.end.

**Author's Note:**

> Ashkaari means "One who seeks," or "one who thinks;" scientists, philosophers, or those who have found enlightenment. 
> 
> Imekari means "child".


End file.
